


Muffled Voices

by tobeheard



Series: If Red is for Hell, the War was in Colour [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ? - Freeform, Anxiety, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Langst, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeheard/pseuds/tobeheard
Summary: Lance is a lot to handle, he’s well aware of that fact. He’s loud and talkative, always having something to say in any situation. He talks to the team when they have breakfast. He talks with them on the way to training. He talks during training. He talks during their breaks. He talks until he’s close to passing out late in the evening. Anything to avoid the crushing quiet that lurked around the edges of all conversation.





	Muffled Voices

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a mess and so am I.
> 
> (for a more intelligible author's note check out the notes at the end.)

_Growing distance free of explanation,_

_We're getting deeper in this mess,_

_Take careful contemplation,_

_I'd rather be spitting blood,_

_Than have this silence fuck me up_

~

Lance was a _lot_ to handle, he was well aware of that fact. He was loud and talkative, always having something to say in any situation. He talks to the team when they have breakfast. He talks with them on the way to training. He talks during training. He talks during their breaks. He talks until he's close to passing out late in the evening. Anything to avoid the crushing quiet that lurked around the edges of all conversation.

Lance hated the quiet, a deafening stillness that makes his heart beat a thousand times faster with anxiety, forcing him into reflecting on his innermost and most damning thoughts. If the quiet was something physical and tangible it would be a small and dark room with no windows and no door. Lance would be in the middle of this desolate space, completely alone, as the walls slowly press in and begin to suffocate him.

Sometimes he feels like if he just stops talking he'd just fade into obscurity. He'd be lost to the depths of space and the faintest corners of ones memories.

When he was younger he used to talk with such a speed that he'd trip over his words and tangle his sentences entirely. If he said his words too slowly he feared people would become disinterested and leave in favour of better and brighter things. He used to make grandiose tales too, having learnt far too young that people weren't interested in the mundane. Nobody cared if the white sock mysteriously became blue in the wash, or if Pip the guinea-pig had escaped her cage once again. So he began to tell fantastical stories to his friends, and then later on his nephews and nieces, in order to keep them focused on him. He liked the attention, it meant that they cared for him and actively wanted to be around him. Over time he found true friends, like Hunk (who he had met after moving to a new town), and began to calm down on the lavish fairy-tales. While he still liked to exaggerate his experiences, he tried his hardest to make them be as close to the truth as possible. He'd learnt to slow down slightly, that the people listening to him were doing so because they _wanted_ to and didn't need extreme stories about finding a wizard in the forest to keep their interests.

Recently he had begun to slip back into telling hyper-imaginative tales. He wasn't lying, per se, rather he was telling versions of the truth to make them appear brighter and more colourful than they originally were. Okay, so maybe he was lying a tad. He didn't save the princesses of various planets as often as he said he did. He certainly wasn't a knight in shining armour. He was no Sir Lancelot of the round table ready and waiting to save the day, he was just plain old Lance. He could feel himself splintering apart.

The team were almost certainly disinterested in him.

Keith had been the first to show the signs, no surprise there. His impossibly short fuse had become even shorter. He would snap at Lance seconds into one of his epic tales. Lance often became so caught up in his anger he didn't notice the averting of Keith's eyes and panicked flush to his cheeks. Keith would stalk out of the room with his body tense and his bayard clutched tightly in his fist, yet all Lance would have on his mind in those moments would be a string of curses and a growing sadness in his chest. He would adamantly ignore the faint "please don't go" echoing in his thoughts, just as much as Keith would ignore the churning guilt each time he fired angry barbs Lance's way.

Pidge was next. As their friendship grew, she had begun to accept his presence during her experiments, allowing him to provide input no matter how wild of a suggestion he made. Recently she'd been almost as snappish as Keith, asking him sharply to be quiet and allow her to work. She was nearly always apologetic the moment the words left her mouth but they had already done their work. He was nothing more than a distraction. The words that tumbled from his mouth having moved on from being a comfort to Pidge in the darkness of space to a nuisance and irritation.

Shiro was surprisingly (yet not really considering y'know Galran imprisonment) tolerant of Lance's rambling. He had always made the time to try and listen to Lance's suggestions. He had sat with Lance in the early hours of the morning, when neither of them could sleep due to the horrors lurking in their dreams, and allowed Lance to chatter nervously away about his family and fears of the future. After Shiro returned from his second Galran imprisonment, however, he had been less inclined to remain within Lance's company. Lance tried his hardest to not take it to heart. Shiro had been through a _lot_ and could barely train with _Keith_ of all people, let alone deal with Lance and his constant ramblings. It didn't mean that it didn't hurt though.

Hunk's recent disinterest in what Lance had to say, had hurt the worst. Hunk and Lance had always been close. When Lance's family had moved to Florida when he was 8, Lance had worried that he'd go to a brand new school and have to live out the rest of his life completely and utterly friendless. Luckily, Lance and his family had the opportunity to meet the neighbours that had lived in the house next door. These neighbours had ended up being Hunk and his family. From that point onwards, Hunk and Lance had found themselves near inseparable, which was why it had hurt so much when Hunk had begun to get closer to Pidge. While Lance _knew_ that it was a good thing for Hunk and himself to not be so co-dependant, and that Hunk had someone else to spend time with (Hunk deserved _all_ the friends), it pained Lance to see his friendship slip away.

He guessed that he was no longer worth their time. That was okay though. He didn't have the strength to cut himself off early and save the heartbreak, however, so he was going to keep holding on until they'd succeed in severing all ties.

He could almost feel that deadly quiet creeping in around him, it's silent strength closing in and slowly _killing_ him.

_~_

_I'd rather be black and blue,_

_Than accept that you withdrew,_

_Just tell me,_

_Say anything,_

_Anything hurts less than the **quiet**._

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, so apparently I go 2-3 years without writing anything and then end up banging out a few fics within a month? (this is my second one uploaded but the 4th one that I’ve finished writing, the other two will be uploaded over the next few weeks).
> 
> Firstly, this fic has not been beta read. It deals with a lot of personal feelings I’ve been having recently (and feelings I’ve had building under my skin for years now) and while I feel comfortable enough to upload this now that I’ve completed my writing of it, I did not feel comfortable enough to have a close friend read through the fic and critique/edit it. That being said, if there is anything you’d like to suggest in order for me to better this fic/my writing style then, please do not hesitate to comment.
> 
> Secondly, no way is this fic insinuating that the team has been neglecting Lance. Personal feelings, especially ones like these, often tend to cut off your ability to read the situation truthfully or logically. Instead, these thoughts like to whisper negative and near-destructive comments into your mind, often colouring an event as something that it was not. For example, with this fic Lance sees the team as completely ignoring him and wishing to forget his existence. That simply wouldn’t be true, the team loves Lance and they all fully appreciate his contributions. While Lance doesn’t see this, the fact that the team does want to spend time with Lance, but are just a little busy (or overwhelmed themselves) should not be ignored or denied. They love and appreciate him, and Lance just needs time to allow himself to appreciate that.
> 
> Thirdly, to reiterate my initial statement, yes in this fic I have channelled my own personal issues into Lance and thus while I’ve tried to make him be as in character as possible, it is very likely for him to be OOC and for that I am sorry.
> 
> Thanks guys


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